I think that people mistook me for a Dr. Phil protege asking me for hours of advice. Unlike Dr. Phil I didn't have a paycheck worth millions of dollars hinging on the popularity of my responses. Therefore, many times a look of utter shock could be seen on someone's face after I told them exactly what I thought about their stupid account of their day, their problems at work or worse their marriage. (Like I really gave a shit about their sex or lack of sex life, who does or doesn't take the trash out and who spends too much money in their relationship?)
The outcome from such said therapist sessions was usually the same. It seemed they evolved into a period of time when that person would apparently avoid me obviously still in shock from my comments and otherwise outright revelation of their ridiculousness. (note: I usually didn't care too much because inevitably they came back for more
Well, a few years ago it was brought to my attention that I "hurt" people's feelings with my bluntness. (Must I go back to the previous stated point regarding these "hurt" people always coming back to me for the
I mean I get it. I admit that in the past I was way to blunt and I often neglected to participate in anything remotely warm and fuzzy like "feelings" (roll eyes) but damn I have to tell you people that there really must be a balance. A balance between the June Cleaver type and the Lizzie Borden type. (What a comparison right?)
Surely, there has to be a place where people can be mature enough to hear the truth when they ask me if a pair of jeans looks good on them and I tell them that they make their ass look like a double wide trailer being hauled down the highway? Surely, there is a place where I can tell my crying child to suck it up because there's no blood without all the mothers within a 50 mile radius appear to be horrified when in reality they are inwardly wishing they could be me? Or better yet there surely, surely MUST be a place where I, as a mother, can go knock on the door of the shitty little bully attacking my kid every day at the bus stop, speak with the mother and after realizing she is a coke snorting whore I just beat the shit out of her and walk home with the assurance that the bullying will stop?
And before you all completely freak out thinking I must be some sort of Andrea Yates wanna be I ask surely there is a place where I can cook dinner for my husband without the feminists of the world wanting to organize some sort of protest rally? Or possibly there is a place where the man goes out and makes the money and the woman stays home and takes care of the house. (AGAIN get off my case you feminist bitches!) And surely there just has to be a place where the phrase keeping up with the Jones' meant something. (OK OK...I just threw that one in there because I needed a laugh with my last name being Jones and all.)
To sum this up I suppose I will just tell all those in my life that you CHOOSE to be in my life just as I CHOOSE for you to be in my life. Therefore, no longer will I be fluffy, sweet and provide you something cute to read on my blog. Instead, I will be what I am for the day. Whether it is funny, sarcastic, rude, or interesting I will guarantee it will be honest but with a note of humanity and if it hurts your feelings, well.......DON'T read it DAMNIT!